


No-One Lights A Candle To Remember

by moorehawke



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Despite appearances this fic is actually about Lotor's life, Dreams, Flashbacks, Gen, Lance/Lotor if you squint, Not Beta'd, this AU assumes Shiro's already escaped from the Galra, title is from Dear Evan Hansen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 21:03:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10727196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moorehawke/pseuds/moorehawke
Summary: The world freezes for a moment, and then Shiro steps back, and Lotor falls to the ground. Dead.





	No-One Lights A Candle To Remember

_‘Cause when the villains fall, the kingdoms never weep_  
_No one lights a candle to remember_  
_No, no one mourns at all when they lay them down to sleep_  
_So don’t tell me that I didn’t have it right_  
_Don’t tell me that it wasn’t black and white_  
_After all you put me through_  
_Don’t say it wasn’t true!_  
_That you were not the monster that I knew…_

 

-  
Almost all of the Galra soldiers in the room are dead or injured by now. In the centre, by the smashed control board, three remain; two seven feet tall with armour and helmets, and one shorter, fighting with his face bare, pale hair loosely braided down his back. Lotor fights with the panic of a man who can see defeat approaching, a sword in each hand, striking with precision but rarely hitting the mark.

Keith’s bayard slices through the helmet of one of the figures, who drops down dead. The second soldier doesn’t spare a glance for his fallen companion and continues to shoot at Pidge, who dodges quickly. Lance aims carefully and fires. The second soldier drops. He feels sick.

With no-one covering his back, Lotor turns to press himself against the control panel, still deflecting strikes from Shiro. His braid is starting to fall apart, and his blocks are getting slower. Keith joins the battle and Lotor is fighting a two-on-one fight. Lance aims his gun again, straight at Lotor’s forehead.

Later he’d tell the others he couldn’t get a clear shot between Shiro and Keith, that they were moving too quickly for his shot to be accurate. But right now, there’s a tightness in his chest that he can’t ignore. He puts the gun down. Lotor meets his eye for a fraction of a second.

 _Snap._ Lotor’s head cracks back into the monitor screen, reducing it to a spiderweb of shattered glass. At his throat, Shiro’s hand has struck the soft point beneath his chin, and the deep indigo of his blood is already starting to blossom. His swords drop from his hands. The world freezes for a moment, and then Shiro steps back, and Lotor falls to the ground. Dead.  
-

 

-  
The entire Galra empire is celebrating. Warships have been scrapped to their skeletons and abandoned on backwater worlds across the galaxy. Many Galra themselves have defected. Haggar has disappeared, though no-one’s quite sure where to.

No one comes back for Lotor’s body. Allura holds it in stasis on the Castleship while they make their return to Arus. They bury it in a simple grave in the fields by the Castle, with no ceremony.  
-

 

-  
There’s a breeze that smells like jacaranda trees, warm and gentle, and the grass is soft underfoot. Lance knows he’s dreaming from the lack of battle scars on his arms. He’s barefoot in a field somewhere, and the wind is playing with his hair. He looks up and sees the hazy outline of the Castle. This doesn’t feel like Arus.

“I never wanted any part of this war.”

Lance startles and spins round. Sitting behind him on the ground is Lotor, armour scratched and cracked, a blossom of indigo bruising at his throat. He seems strangely peaceful as he skims his hand across the tips of the grass. He doesn’t look at Lance. “I’m a relic of peacetime. A Galra-Altean hybrid. I was never supposed to become a general.”

Lance kneels cautiously next to him before sitting down. “Then what happened?” He asks uncertainly.

“My half brothers and sisters left to fight and I was confined to the palace on Galra. A sign of weakness, I suppose. An unwelcome reminder that a Galra could ever… fraternise with the enemy.” Lotor plucks a piece of grass from the ground and spins it between his finger and thumb. “And then they all died, and it was just me left. This battle was to be an opportunity at redemption. Succeed and become the ruler of an empire that despised me, or fail and be killed in battle.” Lotor turns his head to Lance and smiles sadly. “I think I got the better option.”

“I’m sorry.” The words feel awkward on Lance’s tongue, but he doesn’t know what else to say. Lotor shrugs in response.

“I was trapped between a rock and a hard place. At least your Black Paladin got it over with quickly.” Lotor looks out over the field. “I just wish-”  
-

 

-  
“Lance! Wake up, man, breakfast is ready! Hunk made goo cookies and we’re not saving any if you don’t get up!”

Lance snaps back to reality, sitting almost bolt upright in bed and hitting his head on the ceiling above his bunk. “Ouch…” he mutters, rubbing his head as he gets up.

Pidge is still knocking at the door, and almost hits him in the face when he opens it. “La- oh shit, sorry,” she says. She squints at him, leaning in slightly. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks, Pidge.” Lance says dryly. “Can you tell Hunk I’ll be there in a minute?” He closes the door in her face, spins and leans against it for a second, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, before dragging himself across the room to find an acceptable shirt to wear.  
-

 

-  
The goo cookies taste incredible, but Lance’s heart just isn’t in it today, and he only manages to distractedly eat two of the blue cookies before the plates are cleared. He gets up quietly from the table and wanders out of the Castle, and ends up sitting on the stone edge of the enormous pathway that leads to the entrance, facing out into the meadows. He can see Lotor’s grave from here, hidden under a tree.

“Lance.” Shiro’s voice reaches him through his musings. He sits down next to him. “You were quiet at breakfast. Everything okay?”

Lance hums softly, but it takes him a while to respond. “Do you regret killing him?” He eventually asks. “Lotor, I mean.”

“No.” Shiro follows Lance’s gaze out towards Lotor’s grave. “He was our enemy, and he was hurting a lot of people. I don’t regret it.”

Lance looks down at his scuffed shoes swinging above the grass, and doesn’t respond.  
-

 

-  
This time, Lance’s dream is more fragmented. He sees bits and pieces of Lotor’s life, jumbled up and confused.

A tiny child curls up behind a decorative pillar in the halls of a dark marble palace, while his siblings, twice his size, run past him in a furious game of tag. He isn’t noticed.

A teenager tries to cover up emerging electric blue markings with makeup, but nothing matches his oddly pale and smooth hybrid skin.

A young man, alone, wanders the halls of an empty castle and listens to the distant rumble of laser fire above him. His ears flatten anxiously. The stone pillar beside him is cracked and worn.

A young boy pleads with the palace swordmaster to teach him, and, grudgingly, the swordmaster accepts.

A child watches, horrified, through a crack in the curtains as the first war council of the Great War comes into session.

A man fights for his life in the belly of an unfamiliar starship.

Lance wakes up.  
-

 

-  
Lotor’s grave is hidden from the second moon’s light by the thick foliage of the tree it rests near, but Lance can see well enough to make out the engraving.

 _Here lies Lotor, enemy of Altea._ It’s spartan, without decoration. A simple stone slab marks the resting place of a prince.

Lance bends down and gently places a candle by the headstone. Pulling out a tiny box of matches he filched from Pidge, he lights the wick and watches as a flame flickers into life.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.


End file.
